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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473582">she's my collar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakumounits/pseuds/murakumounits'>murakumounits</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>No More Heroes (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bodyguard!AU, Character Study, F/F, Gay Panic, alternate title: navigating employment in a world that doesn't care about you, but you're not here for that, jeane is everything and nothing, slowburn, sylvia is selfish and terrible for everyone, there are mentions of other characters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:42:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473582</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakumounits/pseuds/murakumounits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I died a thousand times / I did what I had to do<br/>Hey, that's just how it goes / I'm still coming back to you"</p><p>Jeane experiences terror and panic at the prospect of being known. Sylvia just wants to go shopping.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sylvia Christel &amp; Jeane the Half-Sister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Jeane lays eyes on Sylvia Christel, she is eighteen, lingering at the Santa Destroy boardwalk and wishing that the sea could engulf the entire city. <em>Radioactive water would wash away all of this city’s sins, </em>she thinks, feeling the sun beat on her exposed scalp. The dirty blonde ruminates on the ozone layer thinning, on the smog in Santa Destroy, on the water’s ebb and flow as her gaze comes to rest at the lone platinum-haired girl sunning on the beach only a few meters away from where Jeane rests against the retaining wall. She has a small stereo next to her blasting some twee J-Pop garbage, applying tanning oil to her legs, working up her calves to her thighs; Jeane feels a twinge of something in her gut as Sylvia fiddles with her phone, turning the volume up on her speaker to drown out both the clinging and clanging of delicate plastic charms jostling against the whipping coastal winds of Muscle Beach and incessant wailing of the tornado siren test echoing throughout the rest of their desolate border town.</p><p><em>[This is a test of the regional emergency evacuation system,] </em>A loudspeaker drones between wails, practically a part of the white noise of the outside if not for the occasional cut of high-pitched squealing from years of disrepair. [<em>No further action is needed at this time.] </em>Jeane hears a tut of annoyance coming from where Sylvia tans on the beach, and with that the older girl can’t help herself-- her eyes drawn to the way Sylvia’s hair is moving in the breeze coming off of the ocean, to the way her silver bangles around her wrists glisten in the California sun, how pale and delicate she looks, alone on this beach. Shaking her head and straightening herself out, Jeane swiftly paces towards the water line, hoping that maybe she’ll be left alone with her tumultuous thoughts and the persistent drone of tornado sirens buzzing through her brain, that the other girl could serve as adequate cover for this excursion out of the house. Before her bare feet touch the waterline, however, Sylvia snaps up, adjusting her sunglasses busily before answering her phone.</p><p>“Henry, hello? It’s me, Sylvia!” Jeane catches the beginning of her conversation, and notes that the cutesy Euro accent masks demands that she would expect from a girl at least five years Sylvia’s senior. Cars and money and—a massage? Hot stones? The lilt of Sylvia’s voice makes Jeane want to sink and dissipate into the sand beneath her feet- setting her face into a grimace so as to scare off any passerby, Jeane beelines down towards the baseball stadium, trying her best to put thoughts of Sylvia’s legs out of her mind and give the girl some privacy. Unfortunately for Jeane, Sylvia was a loud talker, and her high singsong tones (accompanied by computerized chorus lines, spoken in a language she would <em>dare</em> not understand) rang in Jeane’s ears all the way back to her apartment, her room, her lukewarm shower, her cold bed.</p><p>-----------</p><p>The seventh time Jeane sees Sylvia Christel, the scarlet-eyed teen is a senior in high school, nineteen and unfortunate. Jeane’s limbs are wiry and tense at all times, legs hardened from years of walking on tar-rich pavement, and she is always painfully aware of her awkward, gangling physique when she’s in proximity to Sylvia. Feeling her body tighten as Sylvia turns in her general direction, Jeane brushes long, unkempt hair into a low ponytail and asserts herself into the nearest restroom before Sylvia can meet her eyes. Truancy laws had held the elder girl back, and observing Sylvia as the closest approximation to a queen bee this wretched school would ever have- slender and sly and more beautiful in her perfect execution of womanhood than Jeane could ever hope to be, even before the men in her life decided she was disposable- the sudden tightness in her body transforms into a roiling feeling in the pit of her stomach, tinged with envy, anger, desperation for Sylvia’s attention and her small, manicured hands undoing her, making her hers’—</p><p><em>She looks like a perfect fucking doll, </em>Jeane recites mentally to derail that pesky train of thought, making sure the restroom is void of other occupants before slamming the second to last stall shut and plunging her hand into her purse, digging for the new pack of cloves she had bought the other night. <em>The audacity of her. How dare she, </em>Jeane ruminates, her scarred fingers brushing up against the brass knuckles on her house keys as she fishes out a lighter, <em>be so goddamn perfect… </em></p><p>Determined to think about something, anything else, Jeane mentally combs through her tried and true plan for skipping her dreadful physics classes; hiding out in a second-floor bathroom of Santa Destroy High School is step three of five in her plan. Ideally, everyone would be rushing to their final class of the day, so administrators and school security were typically focused on the school’s perimeter, trying to catch any students that would attempt to leave the day prematurely by any means necessary. Security on the upper floor, however, was considerably more lax, and waiting out the first ten minutes of the period and no one discovering her in the bathroom meant a leisurely stroll to the roof of the institution, followed by a six foot drop into sweet freedom through the abandoned husk of Santa Destroy Elementary. It was something she did four times a week, and usually without incident- a smoke in the desiccated school building, maybe a quick scrap if any other students were foolish enough to attempt to pick a fight with her- and then, meaningless free time to fuck off and pretend she was free to do as she pleased in this shithole of a city.</p><p>However, a distinct clack of heels on linoleum made Jeane’s heart jump into her throat and her body tense, rigid as a board.</p><p>“Don’t be coy with me,” Sylvia said, her voice echoing against linoleum tile and chipped plaster to where she knew Jeane stood, frozen and cursing to herself. “I saw you the other day, but didn't get to say hello, so… I thought it would be prudent to introduce myself.” Jeane clutched the lighter in her hand and wondered if there was any way she could exit the situation without being forced to talk to her junior, but the slow clack of her heels made it clear Sylvia had no intention of letting her target slip free.</p><p>“Can you fuck off, please? Give a girl a little privacy?” Jeane hissed in a panicked whisper, hoping that no one heard her from the hallway outside. Sylvia responded with a small sigh, stepping a bit more mindfully as to not rap against the tile. Smiling, she rested against the door of the stall Jeane stood in (still clutching her lighter, still cursing her rotten luck) and crossed her arms, leaning into the swinging door with one shoulder.</p><p>“Absolutely not,” she said, her tone of voice giving away the bemused half-smile currently gracing Sylvia’s face. “Anyway, I’m afraid that a girlfriend of mine had the audacity to cancel on our shopping trip this afternoon, and I’m in need of someone to carry the things I ordered… and you, my dear sweet Jeane, have been graciously scouted by the best agents Santa Destroy has to offer. If you would be so kind as to exit this fucking<em> disgusting</em> washroom with me, we can get on with it, no? I’ll show you the <em>best time </em>in this town, I promise.”</p><p>Sylvia almost sounded sincere. Jeane didn’t believe her for a second.</p><p>Putting her lighter in one of her jacket pockets and sinking to the floor in one motion, Jeane moved as fast as she could out of the restroom without hitting her head on the stall barrier housing the toilet in the adjacent stall- <em>be like water, </em>she thought, her exhale afterwards as she straightened up and out of the bathroom in a dash both controlled and practiced from years of needing to make a break for it in the hot Santa Destroy sun. Before Sylvia could shift her weight back onto her feet to give chase, Jeane was out of the bathroom, avoiding making eye contact with straggling students trying to make their last class. Going down her tried and true path, Jeane quickened her pace knowing that freedom was imminent; she would just lie low, skip for a few days until Sylvia wrote her off as just another Santa Destroy delinquent, without identity, just another faceless girl in the throng that was at her beck and call.</p><p>She turned a corner and was met by a wall of a man she had never seen before, broad shouldered and steel-faced, standing still as wrought iron bars in front of the very exit Jeane had come to think of as her portal to a safe haven. Biting her lip, she whipped around to go to her backup exit leading to the other half of the roof- a more severe drop, to be fair, but one that she knew she could make safely so long as she rolled to soften the impact- and was met, to the blonde’s displeasure, with the steady sharp clack of Sylvia’s heels following at a slow, agonizing pace. Jeane could feel a headache forming at her temples as Sylvia’s footsteps came closer and closer, louder and louder with each passing moment, and lamented her situation: stuck in a corner, pursued by the last person she could bring herself to meet eyes with in this godforsaken town, seemingly boxed in on all sides.</p><p>“You know, you really need to work on being more adaptable, Jeane, my dear,” Sylvia lilted, her voice like clear, pure ice against the dingy, muddy high school hallways as the platinum blonde sharply turned the corner, half-smile turned into a full smirk at her victorious play. “Really, you should have a better mind for the actual strategy of how you’re going to exit this building when you already have a history of not showing up in the first place! I just thought I would accompany you for a bit, shoot the shit, get to know you, figure out <em>why</em> exactly you keep popping up in my peripheral…” She clacked to a stop two feet away from where Jeane stood, locked, fists clenched in her jacket pockets. “Now, would you please hear me out? I was in the middle of a proposition…” Sylvia’s sentence trailed off, followed by the most infuriating giggle Jeane had ever heard within these walls. Her arms crossed once again, Sylvia leaned on one leg, her body shifting it’s weight to better accentuate her small, lithe frame; Jeane did her best to wipe her expression of any hint of displeasure, her face neutral and controlled as she mulled over her words for a few moments before deciding to go with a blunt approach.</p><p>“I had a plan for this afternoon, you’re butting into that plan, give me my space and time or I’ll take down your fucking meat shield right here and now. I don’t want to go shopping with you, I want my solitude.” Jeane stood still, feeling every muscle in her body, every pulse of her heart, as she faced the smaller girl dead on, tone still, cold, focused. Sylvia’s eyes narrowed as she closed the distance between the two of them, silver eyes sparkling with amusement as she looked up at Jeane with that same infuriating smirk on her face.</p><p>“We’ll come to a compromise then. Meet me outside of the K-Entertainment building in an hour and half. If you don’t, I’ll have my… associate… come and fetch you. I look forward to seeing you tonight, Jeane dear!”</p><p>And with that, Sylvia sauntered past Jeane, her walking wall following her wordlessly, leaving the way to the Santa Destroy High School roof completely open. Waiting until Sylvia had exited the hallway, Jeane carefully went out, making sure that no one had followed their spat before fishing out a cigarette and—</p><p>Fuck. Her lighter must have fallen out of her pocket during the initial move to get out of the bathroom.</p><p><em>So much for that, </em>Jeane thought, feeling her headache compound. Shaking away the feeling of creeping dread, she decided to forgo the cigarette and make her way towards the elementary school, successfully making the descent down into the building. However, upon making her way to the first floor of the smaller building, Jeane noticed something different about the furniture in the main hallway- a single table, a glass vase, a sealed letter with something aside from paper inside. Letting her morbid sense of curiosity get to her, the blonde ripped open the letter, paying no mind to the table or the empty vase, instead getting quickly to the letter’s contents-</p><p>
  <em>As a token of my thanks for you joining me tonight,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the next,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And the next.</em>
</p><p>Followed by a suite address, stamped with a K, along with a fresh lighter.</p><p>Jeane’s hands shook in a maelstrom of emotion, none of which she could accurately name. Knocking the vase to the floor with a loud clatter, she decided to give in to her habit, fishing out a cigarette and putting the new lighter to use before she caused anymore property damage. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do than sit and smoke her cloves in the empty halls of Santa Destroy Elementary- the abandoned school was quiet as ever in the midafternoon, and Jeane turned over her thoughts as she entered an abandoned classroom and looked out the window at overgrown school grounds, plants dead and bleached by years of neglect and harsh, unyielding California sun.</p><p>She didn’t want to go home, that was certain. Another cigarette, grey wisps curling in the stale air as she ground the one prior into the ground. If anyone was to make good on their stated goal, it was Sylvia, and Jeane had the feeling that Sylvia would make good on the promise to pick her up anywhere and everywhere, and in her exhausted mind, the fight wouldn’t be worth it. Taking another look at the note provided to her, Jeane slipped it into her pocket, steeled her resolve, and made her way towards K-Entertainment.</p><p>It’s not like she had anything better to do, anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. twos</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jeane comes up with a proposal. Sylvia has a good day.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“… Are you listening?”</p>
<p>“I thought I was supposed to be your bodyguard, not your maid.” Jeane said shortly, just loud enough for her voice to carry though Santa Destroy’s finest spring break-centric little shop of kitsch. For ten minutes, she had been staring at a shirt on display on one of the many battered mannequins- a 2XL souvenir piece of garbage emblazoned almost proudly with the Santa Destroy State Flag. Wrinkling her nose, Jeane got up from the battered chaise lounge that served as a paltry waiting area for bored husbands and hyperactive children during summer holidays, making her way to where Miss Christel- the only patron this shop had seen for a good three months- was trying on <em>far </em>too many bathing suits.</p>
<p>“If you’re to be my <em>shopping partner,</em>” Sylvia called from the fitting room in the very back of the establishment, echoing against linoleum floor and t-shirt lined walls, “then I need you to only listen to me, not whatever self-important internal monologue you’re having. I need you to grab this one in some different colors for me!”</p>
<p>Swimsuit shopping. Not exactly Jeane’s forte- despite her athleticism, she wasn’t the strongest swimmer. The waves would beat her back, the sun would burn- better to be inside with the bag, and feel a response to her strength. She blamed her father for that, too, and—<em>stop stop stop this isn’t the time. </em>A shake of her head, bracing herself for the present moment, putting on a fixed smile and trying not to punch through the door.</p>
<p>Breathe. Focus. Wait. And… speak.</p>
<p>“Yeah, like what?” Jeane took a few steps back, resting her back against the fitting room door and holding up a hand for Sylvia to hand off her items, doing her best impression of someone utterly unbothered. Instead, she felt the support of the door give way as Sylvia opened it to her, mouth curled downward in a perfectly practiced pout, a long black cardigan the only thing adorning her torso. Jeane looked up and away, putting her gaze anywhere but Sylvia’s presence.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, just… something that pops! A girl can’t turn heads at the beach if she isn’t perfectly dressed, so hurry the fuck up.” The platinum blonde then pulled out her phone and dropped herself onto the hard, sticky vinyl chair behind her with a practiced sigh as she gestured at the not-insignificant pile of tagged bathing suits on the floor. “If they only have florals, just get something nude. Black if they don’t have any that are light enough. Something in your skin tone should be fine, but anything darker than caramel is going to show through the blouses I bought last week… and don’t you dare bring anything high cut, I want to look <em>cute</em>, not like someone’s <em>mother.</em> Do you understand, Jeane dear?”</p>
<p>Jeane finally met Sylvia’s eyes, biting the inside of her cheek and curving the opposite side of her mouth in a closed mouth smile, steadily weighing in her mind whether or not this glorified dressing room attendant gig was worth the price of her dignity. Her teeth bit harder on the inside of her mouth, threatening to draw blood- Jeane stopped herself just short of breaking the skin before exhaling through her nose. “Yeah, got it. Options’ll be here in five.”</p>
<p>Before Sylvia could respond, Jeane closed the door. They ignored the platinum blonde’s melodramatic eye roll and set out on her task, knowing that the stoned teenager behind the counter would be of no help whatsoever.</p>
<p><em>It’s better than being in that fucking apartment, </em>she tells herself, silently walking the room filled with round racks and tacky clothes no self-respecting tourist would ever put on their body. <em>It’s better than his eyes on you.</em></p>
<p>Several scans of the wall of tacky bikini tops brought Jeane back with exactly three pieces of functional swimwear that still met Miss Christel’s terms of cute and functional; breathing a sigh of relief as she made her way back to the fitting room, she wondered if she could negotiate her way into an actual salary.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Sylvia laughed with her bag, satisfied at the two swimsuits she deigned good enough for a hot tub outing later that weekend. “Are you serious, did you actually read that contract?” Sylvia asks, bemused. “Most people just sign their name and go along with whatever I want—"</p>
<p>“Do you think I’m some sort of idiot? Of course I read your stupid contract. You need to get a better ghost writer for this shit; hire some sort of expert in legalese to write one for you instead of trying to pass that schlock off as anything legally binding.” Jeane lit her third cigarette of the day, ignoring Sylvia’s  expression of bemusement. “Speaking of which, if you want me to sign another one and keep wasting my time like this, I’ll need better compensation than free stripteases on Thursday afternoons.”</p>
<p>Against Jeane’s expectations, Sylvia plucked the lit cigarette from Jeane’s lips and gave it a long, slow drag before handing it back to the taller girl. “Name your price, then.”</p>
<p>Jeane looks at her, readjusting her smoke, cocking an eyebrow. “Price?”</p>
<p>“Price. You know, compensation? Currency? I can at least adjust the stipulations a little bit to make things sweeter for the both of us.” Sylvia grinned, pulling out her phone once more, opening her messaging app and sending off a quick missive before placing it back in her bag. Jeane stopped for a moment, finishing the cigarette and stamping out the smoldering remains before pulling out a fresh one, playing with it between her calloused fingers.</p>
<p>“… Room and board, allowance of 15,000 LB’s a month. That’ll be enough for… five days a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays off, I’ve got…” Jeane bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to say too much too quickly before resuming. “Other obligations. Just give me time to indulge in a hobby that isn’t being your personal fucking slave.”</p>
<p>A white limousine pulled up right in front of where they were standing- Sylvia stole Jeane’s unlit cigarette once more before descending into the back seat, smoothing out the fabric over her thighs with her free hand so as to keep modest. She pulled a lighter like magic from her sleeve, lighting the tiny cylinder delicately.</p>
<p>“Jeane, please,” She laughed, tossing her bags into another seat in the too-ostentatious stretch, “You would know if you were my slave, you’d have a different name! I prefer to think of you as my… steadfast companion.” Sylvia winked, taking a long draw once more before throwing the lit stick at Jeane’s feet. The girl stamped it out, same as the one prior, still staring Sylvia in the face from her position on the sidewalk.</p>
<p>“Don’t waste those, they’re expensive. Bodyguard is the name of my current position, just treat it like a job. I can’t <em>stand</em> your apparent need to make this more than it is.”</p>
<p>A challenge, and Sylvia is prepared to meet it. “… What are your other obligations?”</p>
<p>Jeane shoots her an icy look. “You don’t need to know, not part of our business. I’ll be with you on the weekend, that should be adequate. Also,” She gestured to the driver of the limousine, the same wall of a man from their previous stint at the school. “Lose that guy, please. Don’t do well with the silent types.”</p>
<p>At the request, a shadow crossed over Sylvia’s face, and for the first time, her expression was truly unreadable. “He is… unfortunately, non-negotiable. We’ll see how your performance goes. See you soon, Jeane dear.”</p>
<p>And before Jeane could retort, Sylvia was gone. Jeane couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes were still on her- silver, dark, so unlike her own. After waiting for a moment, the blonde checked her pockets to find a small, stamped envelope- inside of it, a smooth, heavy card with embossed numbers along with another note.</p>
<p>
  <em>Looking forward to working with you! Head to the address on the reverse side and take your pick.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>- K</em>
</p>
<p>The handwriting was different- more bubbly, somehow. Jeane doubted it was Sylvia’s. She turned the paper, heading to the address to see she’d ended up in the parking lot of one No More Heroes motel.</p>
<p>“Well, shit.” Jeane breathed, raising her eyebrows. Guess that Sylvia had made good on her end of the deal.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a quick note: this is the final weekend you can preorder GHM Zine Volume 2! you can get yourself some of that good-good HERE:</p>
<p>https://gumroad.com/ghmzine</p>
<p>so if you've made it this far, definitely do that- if you like this, there's way more in store that will be relevant to how I portray Sylvia (and some other characters popping up later) moving forward. plus, proceeds go to charity, that's always rad. thanks for reading!</p>
<p>shoutout to y'all, stay cool and get @ me on twitter | https://twitter.com/murakumounits</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you can't tell, this will be extremely self-indulgent! see you when I see you! thanks for reading!</p><p>get @ me on twitter | https://twitter.com/murakumounits</p></blockquote></div></div>
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